I love food. I love to make it, I love to eat it, I love to look at it, I love to read about it. I don’t really like the word “foodie,” but it seems to describe me pretty well. There are many characteristics that all foodies supposedly have in common, and I would say that I fall right in with most of them, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I thought I should share with you a few of my decidedly non-foodie traits:
- Sometimes I’m too lazy to cook. As much as I love preparing a meal with a variety of elements and new techniques or ingredients, sometimes I’m just so exhausted or lazy that we end up with pizza or frozen leftovers for dinner.
- I love mac’n’cheese. The kind from the iconic blue box. I will not eat home-made macaroni and cheese, no matter how much lobster, bacon, or truffles you put in it, or how many kinds of french cheeses you use.
- I don’t like fruit. I’ll eat it, especially if it is combined with 1) peanut butter, 2) ice cream or 3) a flaky crust. But I’d rather munch on broccoli than an apple any day.
- One of my favorite meals from childhood is my mom’s chicken casserole, made with canned mushroom soup, sour cream and stove-top stuffing. Mmmm!
- Baking scares me. I like baked goods – cookies, cakes, pies, muffins, etc, but I don’t like making them. I have some control issues, and there’s not much you can control less than something in the oven (especially at high altitudes).
- I don’t see what the big deal is with foie gras. And before you argue with me, yes, I have tried it, several times. It’s not bad, I just don’t see how it’s that much better than other forms of liver. And it should never be a part of a dessert.
- I am really, really awful about following recipes. I can do it, but I like to tinker and tamper. I also like to “freestyle” in the kitchen. Fortunately, this usually turns out quite well. My husband calls it a “fairy dance through the spice cupboard”. Sadly, this is the only time I’m ever likened to a flowery pixie.
- Doing dishes grosses me out. I can’t stand touching food that’s been partly eaten. The worst: corn cobs. Shudder.
- I won’t pay more than $15 for a bottle of wine. There may be some real merit to a $45 or $105 bottle, but I’m too cheap to find out, since I’m perfectly happy with my “budget” selections. And since our local distributor has what they so thoughtfully named “Wino Wednesday,” I can always find a good bargain.
- I loved Kale before Kale was cool. Go ahead and jump on the bandwagon, but I was here first.
- Almost nothing intimidates me more than roasting chicken. Which is crazy, because I have roasted all manner of poultry, including ducks and Cornish hens, but I stubbornly refuse to make roast chicken a part of my weeknight repertoire. It’s just too easy to get a really good one at the grocery store. And then there’s my irrational fear of the oven (see above).
- I can’t (or won’t) eat oysters on the half shell. My dad loves them. I have never come close to trying them. I just remember my cousin’s face as he tried his first oyster, at the prompting of my dad and uncle. His eyes got really big, and then he just kept shaking his head, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until there was a look of utter and complete panic on his face. I’m pretty sure I would feel just like that.
- Sushi is not going to ever be something I love. And strangely, it’s not the raw fish that turns me off. I once had a gorgeous and delicious Ahi and scallop tartare from Le Grande Bistro in Denver, so I can do raw fish. It that nasty, salty nori seaweed paper. This is ironic, because I remember as a child making these horrible little fake sushi rolls from the small nori sheets and condiments at the Korean restaurant down the road, and then forcing my long-suffering mother to eat them. Now, as we have both grown up, I can’t stand the smell or taste of nori, and my mom is one of those crazy folks who buy the snack packages of nori. Maybe I’ll get around to trying sashimi one of these days.
There are probably many other things I could tell you, but then you would completely dismiss me as a writer about food and cooking, and I’d like to maintain just a shred of respectability. So let’s make it even – are there any foodie confessions you need to make? What is it that really scares you off or grosses you out? Share with us! As they say, Confession is good for the soul!